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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23452765">Upstate Stories of the Round</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/keyyuii/pseuds/keyyuii'>keyyuii</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fate/stay night &amp; Related Fandoms</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Awkward Romance, F/M, Fluff</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 14:35:23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,643</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23452765</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/keyyuii/pseuds/keyyuii</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A modern AU of Fate/stay night. </p><p>Artoria Pendragon is a college student attending Camelot University. She's a relatively normal person, having a small group of closely-knit friends and an energetic roommate who constantly wakes her up in the mornings. But where will fate lead her when she has a chance encounter with a certain Shirou Emiya on a cold autumn day...?</p><p>Crossposted from FF.net.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Emiya Shirou/Artoria Pendragon | Saber</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>32</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. a chance meeting</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Bree! Beepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeep-</em>
</p><p>A closed fist smashes into the top of the alarm clock, silencing it rather effectively (and most likely forever, considering how much force was put into the punch). Bleary emerald green eyes hazy with sleep-mist and the dull remnants of dreams blink open into the unforgiving light of the morning sun shining through the window blinds. She grumbles from her comfortable position on the bed, throwing an arm over her eyes in order to protect them from the dreadful onslaught of waking aureolin glimmering from just beyond the horizon.</p><p>No, she wasn't very energetic today. Not at all. Was she ever?</p><p>Consciousness slowly creeps back as Artoria Pendragon rubs the sleepiness from her eyes, mouth open as a yawn akin to a lion's roar rumbles from her throat. She's always hated mornings with a passion - it's so much easier to just lose herself in the warm embrace of fluffy cotton sheets and the lazy swirl of a three-pronged fan hanging above her head slipping cool air across her face. And of course, it's a weekend, so she plans to do just that.</p><p>"Arty! It's morning time, wakey wakey!"</p><p>Oh, god.</p><p>The energetic voice of someone too familiar - <em>Guinevere, nicknamed Gwen ever since their childhood together </em>- bursts through her door almost literally, the brown-haired blitz slamming open the entrance to Artoria's room.</p><p>Gwen has always been like this for as long as Artoria can remember, the two being opposite sides of the same coin. In stark contrast to the blonde-haired college student, Gwen was bright, super sociable outside of her own circle of friends, loud, and a morning person. People had often laughed about how different the two were, joking that they were destined to either be the best of friends or worst of enemies. Thankfully, fate had guided them to be the former rather than the latter through a chance encounter as pen pals in elementary school.</p><p><em>Well, enough reminiscing,</em> Artoria thinks to herself.</p><p>"God, Gwen, can't you ever come in at a decent time? It's Saturday and seven o' clock in the morning, give me a break," she groans, voice carefully tuned to carry just enough disinterest. Artoria isn't <em>quite </em>awake just yet, that much is obvious from the way her face is buried in the soft clouds of her pillows. This sort of exchange is almost a sort of ritual for the both of them, something that they both find intimate and familiar and an irreplaceable part of their mornings ever since the two had become roommates.</p><p>"Nope! It's seven thirty, actually, and I did tell you yesterday that I wanted to introduce you to the cute boy who works at that nice coffee shop you love! You know, the one on 13th Street? He only works in the mornings, but I know he's definitely your type~!" Despite her roommate's grumbles and growls, Gwen nevertheless kept prodding at Artoria to get up, bright smile completely undeterred. It's an infuriating kind of grin that she knew already that she'd won the argument ever since she'd mentioned the word 'coffee' in front of a tired Artoria. She wraps a hand around the blonde girl's arm, pulling her out of the bed and out onto the floor, earning a dramatic sigh from Artoria. "C'mon Arty, up and at 'em!"</p><p>Artoria shoots a glare at her, sitting up while stretching out her arms and allowing the bones to crack and relax in ways probably inhuman. "You could afford to be a little less loud this early in the morning. But buy me coffee and it's all forgiven," she quips, huffing a little bit in irritation as a hand finds its way onto the mattress to pull herself to full height.</p><p>She pulls irritably at a crease in her sheets. (Mornings were always so horrible. Back when she was younger, Kay would always shake her out of bed and Ector would always greet her with burnt toast and sour jam. She loved them both, of course, but sometimes it was nice to live, well, not quite by herself, but at least out of the house.</p><p>But other times, she wakes up in the middle of the night, realizing that she can't hear Kay's snoring or the sound of Ector rustling up a midnight snack. It's during those times that she feels the most lonely, and it's those times where she's glad that she has a roommate.</p><p>It's a good thing that Gwen's there.)</p><p>-x-</p><p>They're out on the street now, and the wind is damn cold.</p><p>Artoria shivers in her thin jacket, rubbing her arms as another gust ruffles through her golden hair. <em>I should've worn something thicker</em>, she berates herself. Thankfully, the coffee shop was only a few minutes' walk away, so the temperature was bearable until they reached it.</p><p>Nevertheless, she was still going to grouch at Gwen about how cold it was</p><p>"You dragged me out at seven thirty in the morning for <em>this</em>?!" she hisses, although it's not tainted with anger but rather playful teasing. "I'm freezing in my boots here, Gwen! You know that I hate the cold!"</p><p>The brown-haired girl merely giggles in between her fingers at her moping friend, like summer sunbeams through the frozen air, and try as she might Artoria can't even be angry at the cute idiot that Guinevere de Troyes was. "Oh, stop exaggerating, Arty! If you've got enough energy to grump at me about the temperature, you've got enough energy to tough it out! Besides, we're already here!"</p><p>The sound of a ringing bell echoes throughout the cool autumn air as Gwen shoves open the door, dragging a reluctant Artoria behind her into the cafe. Immediately, there's the bitter, nutty scent of coffee drifting around, making the blonde girl breathe in deeply. She's always loved the strong smell of the caffeinated drink; it's always managed to kick her awake, whether it be on a dark and dreary morning during exam week or a simple off-day with her friends.</p><p>And then the moment was ruined by an elbow to the ribs, courtesy of Gwen.</p><p>"Ooh, ooh, there he is! Mister Emiya Shirou himself, probably the cutest boy you'll find within a hundred miles anywhere around here!"</p><p>Gwen stretches out a finger to point at the barista working the counter. Well, Artoria did have to admit that he was rather good-looking; auburn hair, golden-brown eyes, and a face set into a smile that could send most girls reeling at twenty feet.</p><p>(No, her heart is most definitely <em>not </em>leaping out of her chest and into her throat right now. Just because he's handsome and cute and that awkward smile makes her feel weak in the knees doesn't mean anything.)</p><p>He smiles at them.</p><p>And suddenly something in the air changes, because nothing can stop the blood from rushing straight to Artoria's cheeks and ears and lighting up her entire face with a cherry pink blush-</p><p>Oh, no.</p><p>She's in love.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. his mornings</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>He watches them as they burn.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>At his feet, his m̸̨̩̀̐ȯ̸̼̗t̵̙̐̃h̴͚̐͒͜e̶͓̥͝r̶̡̡̕ is coughing, suffocating, bespattering linoleum flooring with her own sizzling blood; her pale skin is peeling away from the bone, falling with wet splashes to the ground like crimson rain. Her skeleton will disintegrate into coal-black particles in just a couple of minutes, left to scatter away in the breeze with the other ashes. It smells a little like burnt honey, he remembers.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Behind her, his f̷͍͌̇a̸̪̔͝ṭ̵͗̅h̵͖̊e̴̯̕r̷̟̱͑, once as quiet and gentle as snowfall - now he can see the sky, red like the blood trickling down his cheeks, through what probably used to be his intestines. Soon, he won't be able to see him at all.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>There's nothing special about their deaths. He can't remember who they were, what they were, or even where they were. All that's left is fire, firefirefirefirefire burningscorchedpainfire-</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He looks up.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>There's Kiritsugu.</em>
</p><p>"<em>Old man," he says. The words whisper out like a corpse's last breath. The kind of body that's been beaten bronze and dried out scars until they crack through skin every second day, making it reminiscent of the space between stars where life goes to die.</em></p><p>"<em>Shirou," he returns, as even as a perfectly balanced scale.</em></p><p>
  <em>Shirou's struggling just to stand, reaching out his hand to grasp what lay so far away yet just in his reach-</em>
</p><p>
  <em>What hell could be worse than this? A world where the vision of the future was naught but a waking dream, the end of everything just a mirage before the comforting hold of death finally takes ahold?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The flames are close.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The flames the flames the flames the flames the flames-</em>
</p><p>
  <em>There's a sound like a sword being ripped out from a stone as he-</em>
</p><p>-nearly leaps out of his bed as the remnants of screams and crackling fire die in his ears. His entire body is bathed in a cold sweat, breath fast as the beat of his own heart. His shoulder aches like someone had taken a hammer to it. So does his chest.</p><p>He ignores it with the ease of long practice.</p><p>It's six fourteen in the morning and everything is going to be alright.</p><p>He pads out of his bedroom and towards the kitchen. The floorboards, stone gray tile, are cold against his feet.</p><p>He passes the living room, past the couch and the coffee table, and enters the kitchen. It's small, but the warm flush of the lights as he clicks on the switch and they snap on along with the stack of recipe books shelved neatly next to the sink turn it from cramped to cozy. Smoothly, he goes from filling up an electric kettle with tap water to heating a pan to the stove. It was always this kind of ritual that he finds the most relaxing; making a simple breakfast and tea.</p><p>The smell of sizzling eggs quickly fills the air as Shirou cracks two into the pan, easily reaching an arm over to the electric kettle to flip the switch off. He grabs two mugs, ripping open two bags of green tea with the skilled ease of long practice and pouring the boiling hot water into both cups along with a bag each of tea. It's ready to go by the time that the bread pops out of the toaster and the egg whites in the pan are beginning to set, and he opens the cupboard to pull out two dishes to hold the food.</p><p>Soon enough, he's holding two plates each with a sunny-side-up egg and a slice of toast and two cups of green tea while walking back to the second bedroom, held with the experience of two years of a waitering part-time job during high school. The door is creaked half-open, so all Shirou needs to do is bump it with his hip a little to find Issei Ryuudou sitting up, resting against the headboard with his face buried into a book. "Did you sleep well, Issei?"</p><p>"Ah, quite fine. As always, thank you for the breakfast and tea, Emiya. How was your rest?"</p><p>Shirou takes a small bite out of the toast, smiling lightly as he sips from the mug of steaming hot tea. "It was alright," he replied offhandedly, the two friends sitting in rather comfortable silence as the breakfast was consumed with no complaints.</p><p><em>We've known each other for maybe four years by now,</em> he idly muses to himself while cleaning the plates. <em>Issei has always been the straight-laced kind of guy, even since we met during freshman year in high school. I'm glad that we decided to room together since our universities were nearby.</em></p><p>(Their first meeting had been purely by chance.</p><p>During high school, Shirou had immersed himself in favors for others. Whether it was lending his notebook out, fixing a room heater, or even cleaning the archery dojo, he'd take up the job and do it with a smile. A lot of people took advantage of that. For example, a certain Shinji Matou would shove off his cleaning duty onto Shirou so that he could go play around with girls. Shirou didn't mind. Not at all.</p><p>But Issei wasn't one of those people. Of course, he would come to Shirou and ask for help at times, but he'd also offer his own assistance if his friend was ever struggling with anything.</p><p>He had to admit that it was nice to have a friend like this.)</p><p>-x-</p><p>"You can't just <em>do</em> that, Taiga!"</p><p>Ah.</p><p>He probably should've expected this.</p><p>When he rounds the corner into the coffee shop that he called his workplace, managed under perhaps the single smuggest person he knows, the first thing he sees isn't the smoke billowing out of the oven, the kitchen flooring scattered with ash, the coffee tables not even set up, or the remainders of batter splattered all over the kitchen walls.</p><p>No- it's a blue-eyed girl wearing a coat the color of roses in bloom during spring, standing in front of a light brown-haired woman and shoving a dainty finger in her face.</p><p>"Rin, Fuji-nee, can you two not blow up the kitchen <em>before </em>I get here?" he sighs, slipping off his coat and throwing the classic apron that employees always wore around their cafe. But despite the exasperation clear in his voice as he places his hands on his hips to give the two a classic 'disappointed mom' look (or so what it was nicknamed by their manager), he can't hide the small smile on his lips. The part-time job gives him a little routine and something to look forward to every other day, despite the constant bickering of the two other employees.</p><p>"But Shirou," Rin begins with a complaining whine in her voice, "it's not my fault Taiga can't tell what temperature you should bake cakes at! This psycho really thought that throwing chocolate gateau into the oven at 450 degrees was a good idea because it would apparently 'cook the cake faster'!"</p><p>"I don't want to hear that from the girl who doesn't even know how to make scrambled eggs!" Taiga shoots back, crossing her arms with a scowl on her face as she glares at the dark-haired girl standing across from her. "It's not like you can say that you're any better. After all, remember that one time where you almost poisoned dear Shirou here with your food?" The last sentence has the same sort of smugness that one has in an argument right before it's won.</p><p>"Don't bring <em>that incident</em> into this, you, you, you freak of nature!"</p><p>"That's rich coming from you, you hedonistic hussy!"</p><p>"Woman-child- ow!"</p><p>"Immature brat- ow!"</p><p>"Alright, that's enough from both of you. Go get the tables set up, I'll clean up here." Shirou sighs as Rin and Taiga rub their heads where he had just hit both of them, the auburn-haired boy grabbing a mop from the closet and beginning to wipe off the burnt bits on the floor.</p><p>And so began another day at Cafe Rail Zeppelin.</p><p>-x-</p><p>The bell above the entrance rings and along with it, a familiar, energetic voice.</p><p>Shirou smiles a little to himself as the bubbly voice of Guinevere echoes throughout the cafe. As expected, she has the same energy as ever-</p><p>Oh.</p><p>There's someone with her. Someone very, <em>very</em> pretty.</p><p>(His heart is definitely <em>not</em> running at about a million miles at an hour. No, he most certainly isn't feeling like the world suddenly just stopped turning for a moment. Definitely not. Deeeeeefinitely not.</p><p>But he can't really place a name to the strange feeling running in his chest. It rings once, twice, against his eardrums as he suddenly can't find any words in his mouth.</p><p>She is so real and so human and so far beyond his reach he feels himself choke on his own air.)</p><p>There's gotta be something wrong.</p><p>He's in love.</p>
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